


Sweetpeas and Daffodils

by 0_yngve



Series: Aching Bones, Aching Hearts [3]
Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: Angst, Autistic Snusmumriken | Snufkin, Chronic Pain, Disability, Disabled Character, Disabled Snusmumriken | Snufkin, Floriography, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Language of Flowers, Physical Disability, Trans Snusmumriken | Snufkin, also theres like a slight mention of snufmin but its not relevant to anything, also these arent relevant but:, i am making that a tag through sheer force of will, internalized ableism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:42:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23729989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0_yngve/pseuds/0_yngve
Summary: In Snufkin’s notebook, between poetry and notes to himself and pressed flowers and impromptu musings, were letters to his own body.
Series: Aching Bones, Aching Hearts [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1688545
Comments: 5
Kudos: 61





	Sweetpeas and Daffodils

**Author's Note:**

> Daffodils represent unrequited love, while sweetpeas mean a goodbye.

Snufkin had woken up in better shape than he was the night before, which is to say the burning in his forearms was only a sting, and the throbbing in his ankle felt more sore than anything else. 

It was a light day, then. 

Taking advantage of this, Snufkin retreated into the woods to do his stretches before joining his friends later at the beach as planned. He could do them at his campsite, but he never tried. Even when he found the most reclusive spots to warm up his body for a day of activity, hedgehogs and creeps stared and whispered to one another. 

Was that Snufkin? _The_ Snufkin? What was he doing? Was he injured? What did he eat from that pouch? It didn’t smell like anything from the valley. 

Snufkin figured gossip would only spread if he did it more publically; he preferred to keep his medical issues to himself, thank you very much, and would rather no creatures of any common language spoke of them. 

So in search of isolation, Snufkin walked. Veering off the path, he noticed a flowering bush with blooms familiar but difficult to place in his memory. He was glad he brought his pack as he shrugged it off to pull out his notebook, hoping for a pressed flower from a few months ago to which he could compare these. 

In Snufkin’s notebook, between poetry and notes to himself and pressed flowers and impromptu musings, were letters to his own body. The ink was blurry and faded, the penmanship having spots messier than usual and spots neat, slow, and deliberate. Snufkin hadn’t meant to re-read them; he only wanted to compare the flower in his hands to one he found a few months ago further south. But on the page across, the illegible script drew him in. 

_We seem to be in a bit of an argument now._

_I am starting to outgrow you._

_Must soulmates remain together?_

_Even though I love you, we grow distant._

_When we are together, you bring me pain._

It read less like a medical history and more like the begging of a heartbroken lover. Snufkin supposed that made more sense. His body was just that: separate from his mind, his soul. It was meat and bones that carried him from place to place—when it was Co-operative. It was its own being, with its own ideas over which Snufkin had no control. Perhaps that suited a creature like him who loathed authority so greatly. Why should he impose his will over another? 

But… was that fair? Was it right to separate himself from his physical form? No, it didn’t behave as he wanted, and it was more vocal than others, but it was still a part of him and deserved his care. 

If only it could return such nurturing. 

Snufkin grew more and more upset. It hurt to think of his body as himself. That meant he was the one hurting him. That meant it was his fault—it was on him that he asked too much of it and never learned. It was on him that he got stuck and fell down and dropped things and missed plans and broke promises. Snufkin didn’t want to take responsibility for that. 

So his body must be separate. But if it was indeed separate from himself, then how was this fair? 

“Why must you be so stubborn?” The words slipped from Snufkin’s thoughts to his lips without him much noticing. 

Nearby birds halted their chirping and cooed curiously. 

“Is there something I’m missing? Do you need something more?” Snufkin continued, unable to stop himself. “What else could you possibly want?” 

He felt himself get angry, and, oh dear, that was a hard dam to seal back up. “I don’t have anything left for you.” Snufkin’s face felt hot, red. His eyes were burning from more than his frequent headaches. 

“You took so much from me—I don’t have anything left to spare. I have so little to begin with!” He knew he was getting loud now, childish and silly and petty and sad. But he was so, so angry. 

“How many times have I told you: I can’t give you everything you want and that’s just how things will be!” He couldn’t see doctors with the way they spoke to him. He couldn’t afford surgeries—even if they would help with his unnamed conditions. He couldn’t eliminate foods he knew made him sick without giving up his travels. 

He was definitely being stared at. Eyes all over him, locking him in to this small clearing off the trail. But Snufkin couldn’t stop. His words were spilling out of him like a flooding river all he could do was swim in them. 

“But what more do you want?” Snufkin wailed to his body. “I rest, I take medicine, I exercise, I stretch—what more could you ask for? I’ve taken care of you all my life and you still hurt me like this!” He punched his calf over and over again, but there was no force to it. It was feeble, sad. It didn’t make Snufkin feel any better, pounding his fist against his attacker; all it did was make his knee throb. 

Figured. 

Snufkin’s tears poured out of his eyes despite his begging them to stop. Of course his body wouldn’t listen to him. When did it ever? 

He rubbed his eyes until they burned and lightly smacked his cheeks, forcing him to think straight. _Calm down_. 

Snufkin took a deep breath in. And out. In. Out. He looked down in his paw, realizing in his fit that he ripped a flower off of the plant. 

He considered giving the flower to Moomintroll, putting it behind his perky ear and letting his fingers linger a few moments too long before pulling away, blush hidden under the wide brim of his hat. But no, while Snufkin would certainly enjoy that, he didn’t want any reminders of this time—especially not on the face of such a remarkable creature. 

Snufkin rolled the sweetpea stem in his fingers, noticing a couple of dried petals. He plucked them from the flowers. The joints in his fingers burned. He kept plucking and plucking the dull, stiff, broken petals away. The stems of the plant abraded his skin, making it tingle and ache. Left on and rot would spread through the entire plant. Remove the blight and everything would be okay. Snufkin kept picking away, his fingers burning more and more. The flower fell apart. 

**Author's Note:**

> Oof okay y'all I went back and forth on posting this because the Ableds write enough cripple angst but I've never seen one really talk about the disconnection with the body beyond "I am trapped in this broken shell and I must break free" nonsense. But I write letters to my own body to work through my own feelings with my disabilities (thank you Footless Jo for the idea) and they really help me, and sometimes I'm looking for my pattern breakdowns for an 800 c.e. Icelandic kyrtil (not even kidding I'm just Like This) and I see them and the vibes suck man. Basically Ableds write about how being disabled sucks but they always talk about it wrong. Plus I got the idea for the flower thing when I was picking at some flowers in my own backyard, confined to it as I am with The Rona, and then I vibrated so hard I just had to write Something. 
> 
> —  
> Follow me on tumblr @/smooth-goat for trans rights


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